All Your Hate
by mychemicalbitchbot
Summary: Maryse didn't understand that what she said just made him feel worse. Made him sink so low that he felt he'd never be able to climb out. Malec, diabetes.


**This is a story about Type 1 Diabetes. It might be confusing if you don't know much about it.**

**This story in no way reflects my personal experiences. **

**Triggers warning. **

"You're going to die before you're thirty, if you keep this up. Maybe even when you're twenty. Do you want to get your foot amputated before you can even drink legally. My friend's daughter has so many problems with it, and she's just two years older than you. You need to take better care of yourself."

Alec knew his mom was worried about him, but that she cared wasn't how he felt about it. He was just bad at taking care of it. He was trying to be better, it just always slipped by him and his blood sugars were always high and now he wasn't going to get to see his friends. He wasn't going to get to see Magnus before he went away on some motherfucking training camp on how to Better Take Care of Your Type One Diabetes. He wouldn't see any of them for two months. He wouldn't be able to contact, them, either.

He cried, that night, trying to hold it in but still letting a few sobs escape. His mom made sure he'd packed things the next day, told him he'd better get a fucking hold of this, and sent him off to the middle of nowhere to learn about his motherfucking diabetes and "explore how to make it better and healthier!".

For not the first time, he hated her. Hated that she cared enough to rip him apart with her words, that she would rip him away from where he belonged. He hated that she could make him fall to pieces- or even have to put in effort to holding himself together. He hated it. He hated it all.

Alec didn't like the classes, didn't like that he wasn't the only one who regularly consumed Diet Coke because nothing else ever came in fucking diet and he didn't want to have to take a shitload of insulin. He didn't like talking about hypoglycemia, about how it made him feel like his body was rebelling, he was falling out of himself while his skin stayed attached. He didn't like talking about his hyperglycemia, the headaches and the dizziness, about how hard it became to see color sometimes. He hated it. He hated himself, for having that fucking disease.

Alec hated the people who were there on the trip with him. They were all so happy, eager to talk about their experiences and have fun with the other campers. They wanted him to be social. They were smiling, happy, because, well isn't that nice, they were all in it together! Alec felt like one of the days he had kitchen duty he was going to slit all of their throats. He hated them. He hated it all.

Alec remembered the night before he left. His mom told him to take his lantus before she went to sleep, he was watching a movie with his siblings, and he said he would.

"Good, so I won't have to teach you that much."

She's said that. Because Alec hadn't had diabetes for thirteen fucking years, had he? He didn't forget it often. Once a year. That was impressive, even to his doctors who had much better patients. He hated her. He wanted to kill them all, just pull the trigger. The worst part was that she said it in front of his younger siblings, people he tried to be a good influence on.

Maryse had never had diabetes. He hated her, because she didn't _really _know. She knew it was hard, but she didn't _recognize _it. He hated it.

People pitied diabetics (or people with diabetes, his mother would say, because she didn't want him labeling himself. She hadn't thought the same when he said he was dating a boy), because they thought they couldn't eat sugar or what fucking ever. They didn't think it was too bad. "Hey, at least you don't have leukemia or something."

That was the worst one that had ever been said to him. Because the message was, 'at least it isn't killing you.' But people died of diabetes, all the time. They got drunk, their blood sugar got low and they were dead before morning. If they were at a really bad stage, their nerves were so bad that they could break a bone and not feel it, bleed out and not even notice until they were dead. They could lose everything, not be able to see. Alec hated it. He wanted Magnus, who didn't understand, but didn't yell at him and tell him he was going to die all the time.

But she wouldn't let him see Magnus. He was locked away with smiling faces he hated, who had long since started hating him back. He hated it all.

They all had to write their names on their test kits. With tape, or sharpie, whatever they preferred. Lots of them had colorful ones that already had their names printed on. Alec's was black, and he stuck some tape on it. It read 'the kid who's going to die before he's twenty'. He didn't care, even at their shocked faces. They called his mother that night, but he didn't speak to her. She loved him, he knew. But the sentiment had stopped being returned, he wouldn't ever say 'I love you' back to her again.

Maryse took him back from the summer camp early. He didn't speak, no matter how hard she tried. She pulled off the road, started screaming. He just looked down and took it, letting her huff then get back on the road with some threat. He took thirty units of insulin, as much as he could, and sat through as much of the ache for as long as he could before he told him mother he was low and they needed to stop at a gas station because he'd eaten all of the sugars in the car but he hadn't gotten any better. She gave him a tenner and he was just happy to get away from her, his ability to walk impaired or not. She was too mad to notice how much he was affected, looking the other way. He hated her.

Alec wasn't allowed to go out. Magnus didn't even know he was back, unless Izzy had told him. He was in his stuffy room all the time, then Maryse would yell at him. He didn't eat a lot, and he had stopped taking his medicines. He had a constant headache, was always a little too dizzy. He layed around. He never left. Sometimes, he'd leak a few tears.

It took two weeks since he'd gotten back to realize that he'd been focusing his hate on all the wrong people.

It took two weeks for him to kill himself.

He was going to die before he was twenty, like Maryse had said. But it wasn't the motherfucking diabetes.


End file.
